Part of being pregnant, for me at least, is smelling things that my husband swears are not really there.
Like mildewed dead bodies in the basement. (The Hubster promises that whatever corpses are laying around down there are likely very dry and desiccated by now, so the smell is in my head. And yet, this seems like a really good reason not to go down there. The only thing down there is laundry, which I have decided he can deal with, since barfing on the clean pile would really defeat the point. I will fold once it is brought up, but I am not going down there.)
Some fall weed blooming in the alley that makes the whole damn street smell like something I can only describe as "Barf-Farts". (It is a very technical term that I cannot say without laughing, but the thought of the small makes me want to barf-cry at the same time. While barf-farts are probably not real, barf-crying is real. Very, very real.)
Three-day old, hot garbage fish sticks in the bathroom. (It is time to wash the diapers, which we keep in a rather air tight, smell proof container, but otherwise the bathroom is CLEAN. I know. I scrubbed it just a few days ago trying to get rid of the mysterious fishy odor. A cleaning which included draining the toilet tank, changing out the flapper and stand pipe, and scrubbing the tank walls, you know, just in case. So before you start thinking "ewwww fishy bathroom smell!" Let me tell you that the Hubster just confirmed that it is completely neutral in there. He says he can't even smell the diapers.)
The bathroom is the worst. By far. Because, I have to pee. All the time. So I have to go in there. All the time.
Tonight I tried holding my nose and breathing through my mouth, but then I needed two hands to get my undies off quickly because I was giggling about barf-farts, and giggling while pregnant means you have to pee NOW, but, with both hands occupied, I then smelled the smell-that-isn't and spent the rest of the potty break dry-barf-crying while I tried to pee as quickly as possible and stop giggling. And crying, because, you know, this is awful. And funny. But mostly super awkward. Thankfully, it is bedtime and I am really tired, so I won't have to go in there for another 45 minutes.
(Ever so thoughtfully, the Hubster reminded me "You wanted this, very, very much." Yeah, I know. In my defense, the first one deceptively easy.)
PS-I have been told by two different friends on two different occasions that my house "always smells like a bakery". I find this odd, but I am guessing that it is because they can't smell the mildewed bodies, hot rotten fish sticks or barf-farts either. So don't be afraid to stop by, just be afraid to body swap with me.)